Quarantine: A Pandora Novel

by McCrohan, Richard

  The tenants looked at each other. Stu Goodman, from 2C on the second floor, spoke up.

  “I don’t think we should leave,” he said. He and his wife Sharon were originally from Chicago. “It’s much too dangerous to be out in the streets. And besides, I don’t want to go to New Jersey. I don’t know anything or anyone there. Hell, I’ve never even been there. What do I have there? Nothing. No, we’re staying.” Stu took his wife’s hand and thrust his chin out with the finality.

  “I’m certainly not leaving,” said Kelvin. “There is absolutely nothing that would make me walk out the front door. Here I am and here I’ll stay.” Looking about defensively, he added, “Especially after what happened to Svetlana.”

  Svetlana Novachenkovich was the former tenant of apartment 2D. Lana, as she liked to be called, was a fashion model by way of Moscow, Russia. She came here six years ago at age eighteen. Coming off the plane with nothing but her bag, $200 in cash and a body that would make most men walk into walls, she capitalized on her come-hither-to looks and parlayed that into a rising career in modeling. As gorgeous as she was and as sweet as she could be, she was just as stubborn and enamored of the American dollar. Not long after the blackout started, it was her turn to go on the foraging run. She and Amy went to a coffee shop two blocks north. On the way home, Lana stopped to look at a store window just as four looters were running back out. The first man out collided with her as he hurriedly exited the kicked-in door. Lana went flying back into a lamppost. Simultaneously, the startled and equally frightened looter stumbled back, then drew a gun from his waistband and fired a shot that struck the stunned model in the abdomen. She abruptly slid down the lamppost and landed on her ass; then toppled over, whimpering and holding her stomach tightly. The shooter stood over her as if deciding what to do. The other three came up beside him, looking down at the beautiful, but gut-shot model. Their leering, evil looks hinted at what they were planning.

  Amy, standing behind an abandoned taxi in the street, pointed her weapon as one of the now laughing men reach down to the pleading model. She fired off a shot that missed and struck the store window shattering it. The men ducked as the first shooter spotted Amy and started firing wildly in her direction.

  “Screw you, bitch!” he yelled. “I’ll kill you, too.”

  As the wild rounds hit the vehicles all around her, Amy ducked back down behind the taxi. While the bullets were flying, an ominous moaning rose up around them. Then suddenly, the alerted undead emerged from storefronts and around abandoned vehicles. The looters saw them and after one or two last shots in her direction, took off running headlong down the street away from her. Amy watched them disappear up the block, firing at the grasping zombies as they ran. She tried to get to the fallen model. Lana was trying to crawl toward her. Suddenly three zombies lurched up the street, closing in on the fatally wounded girl. At the same time, a gore-spattered creature stepped out not ten feet in front of Amy and snarled. Seeing that she would never be able to reach Lana, Amy pointed the gun at the terrified model and fired at her. But her hand was shaking so badly that all she did was hit the sidewalk, ricocheting bullets off the pavement. Finally, as the zombie in front of her was very close, Amy turned and ran down the street dodging and avoiding the encroaching undead. She didn’t stop running nor crying until she reached her apartment building.

  A few days later, Rick and PJ were out on the supply run and they saw Svetlana ambling awkwardly down the street. The drop-dead gorgeous model was covered in dried and clotted blood. Her throat had been savagely torn open and she was missing her left arm. She had very unwillingly joined the undead army.

  At Kelvin’s mention of the poor model’s fate, the conversation faltered. Everyone squirmed uncomfortably at the thought.

  At last, Rick said calmly, “Look, we’re not forcing anybody to go anywhere. We’re only saying that if you wanted, you can come with us. That’s all.”

  Looking at Rick with a tortured expression, Kelvin opened his mouth then closed it again. He looked like he would burst out sobbing at any minute. “I just can’t go out there,” he forced out in a breaking voice.

  Nemeeka rubbed his arm soothingly. When he looked at her, she smiled at him and said gently, “It’s okay, Kelvin. You don’t have to go anywhere. It’s all good.” Embarrassed, Kelvin sat back and not making eye contact was silent for the rest of the time.

  Amy looked around sadly and said, “Meek and I had discussed this scenario earlier. We really don’t want to… but I think that we must leave.” Looking around, she saw that their decision was totally unexpected. Even Rick and PJ were staring at her amazed.

  “For four weeks,” she explained, “we have been digging around the empty stores and markets here for supplies. And, frankly, so has everyone else that are trapped in their buildings. Those places are now empty. To get more we have to widen our search parameters. I don’t think we would be able to walk eight or more blocks away and back without being eaten. There are too many zombies around. And besides, we’d be in somebody else’s neighborhood searching their grocery stores. What makes you think that there not in the same situation we are, and are thinking of coming over here because they have nothing left either? I love living in the city. But not during an apocalypse.” She grabbed Nemeeka’s hand as the tall, black girl started to cry.

  Tomiko Yamaguchi realized that she was the only one still left to speak. She had been sitting there the entire time thinking back unbelievably to her life just three months ago. Back then she worked for Ralph Lauren at his Madison Avenue retail mansion. This was her dream job and she couldn’t wait to get to work every morning. She was the manager of the entire woman’s department and was being groomed for a rise up in advancement. Life was so good that she had to pinch herself to make sure she wasn’t just dreaming all of this.

  Now, her beloved Ralph Lauren fashion industry was moribund. Under lock and key, on hiatus, and for now, over. She was adrift and lost. Her raison d’être, ended.

  And now, again, she found herself adrift. She had absolutely no idea what to do. The American part of her told her to leave, and move on to safer grounds; yet the Japanese part of her said that you should stay with your home and make the best of it. So, she was torn between two cultural mindsets. Sitting there stoically, she decided to wait. She would do what her heart told her to.

  Nellie Berman was missing from this important meeting. The old woman had died about ten days ago. After every food and supply run, they would knock on her door and give the grateful woman her share of their findings. The last time she answered, she seemed very confused and was breathing abnormally. After that, she stopped answering her door altogether. A week later, Rick and Stu broke through the triple locked door only to find the old lady sitting dead in her easy chair. Holding handkerchiefs to their noses, they wrapped the body up in a rug and carried it out the back entrance. There, they laid it on the small patio in back and covered it with some boards they found stacked there. After looking through her apartment, they discovered that most of her prescription medicine bottles were empty, including several that Eileen had said were keeping the poor woman alive.

  A little while later the meeting broke up and everyone went back to their individual residences. Rick and Eileen, PJ and Mora, and Amy and Nemeeka all spent time collecting their “go bags.” The hardship for the two girls that actually lived there was not what they were taking, but rather what they had to leave.

  15

  As a world changing event, the Pandora virus succeeded as no other pathogen ever did. The mutating pathogenesis of the virus changed the nature of the alien disease from a temporarily debilitating illness to a full-blown, 100 percent fatal, potentially “the end of the world as we know it” event. Not even the Black Death of the Early Middle Ages had done that. The bubonic plague of those times was more focused in the crowded cities as opposed to outlying rural areas. This eventually led to a more pastoral society. Pandora, on the other hand, affected everybody. And as we now are so electro
nically and technologically dependent, it seemed that the more you have, the more you have to lose.

  Not only the CDC and the WHO, but every worldwide government and scientific laboratory was now throwing everyone and everything they had into finding a cure for this disease. The recently infected, the dying, the zombies themselves and even (in some dark, unofficial locations) the uninfected were taken as test subjects to help discover and manufacture a cure. Or, at least an immunization against infection. Anything to try and save our civilizations. These doctors and scientists struggled valiantly to find a solution to this viral Armageddon. Many would even lose their lives in this quest.

  Also thwarting their research was the fact that as the initial microbe was of otherworldly origins, the leading minds of the medical world had no basis from which to start. They first had to actually discover the original microbe and analyze exactly how it worked. Then, after they understood the workings of the alien virus, they had to analyze how human DNA and the more earth-borne pathogens had interacted with it, causing the mutations that changed it from the initial Pandora virus to the deadly Pandora 2 Mutation. Pulling the alien genetic code apart and putting it back together was a daunting and almost impossible task. Yet, they soldiered on, because to not do so would be to face world demise.

  Governors Island proved to be a good staging ground for the remnants of the “Fighting 69th.” They were still doing daily flyovers around the five boroughs. When possible, they attempted rescue missions of groups of civilians they came across. The survivors were housed on the island also. The National Guard were supplied out of Fort Drum in northern New York State by airlift every couple of weeks.

  Meanwhile, the uninfected population of Manhattan continued to live like the rats that they so vehemently despised. They hid in their darkened apartments and tenements until forced to scavenge for scraps among the ever prevalent undead. Water, food, and essential goods were the new currency of the city. The looting of stores and businesses never really turned massive. A combination of the continuing increase of zombies in the streets and the occasional strafing of the large crowds of either the zombies or looters by the Army attack helicopters prevented any large-scale rioting. The pilots had noticed that when they did low flyovers the undead would flood the streets under them. Upon informing their superiors of this, a new operation was attempted. A Pave Hawk was flown low over one of the larger avenues. When the undead would gather en masse in the street, reaching and clawing at the sky, a following Apache aircraft would swoop in and strafe the packed undead with heavy .30 mm chain gunfire and a combination of Hellfire missiles and Hydra rockets. It was just a dent in the undead population but at least it made the Army feel like it was doing something. Unfortunately, some stray rackets and exploding vehicles resulted in several fires. Some of which became serious conflagrations.

  Austin looked back at everyone lined up behind him. The early morning sky was overcast and gray. They were all carrying as much food and ammo as they could practically carry. Austin and Jermaine unlocked and pushed the front gate open. Single file, they exited the empty quarantine zone and entered the city streets.

  “Just don’t rain until we fix the fucking Humvee,” Austin muttered.

  They scampered down the long, wide avenue moving from vehicle to vehicle. The undead was still roaming the streets. The four creeping soldiers moved unnoticed along the roadway until they reach the junction of 12th Avenue and 42nd Street. There were so many vehicles littering the road that they couldn’t see the mobilized Humvee the two blocks further up the street. Looking out from behind a delivery van, Austin surveyed the area. The amount of zombies in the immediate area they needed to travel in was greatly reduced. That being said, there were still too many to safely try and sneak past. It would be extremely difficult with one person, but with four… impossible.

  Spying a woman’s high-heeled shoe lying in the road, Austin reached for it. Turning it in his hand, he cocked his arm and threw it as far as he was able to. The black leather pump arced in the air, tumbling end over end. The trajectory was excellent and the shoe traveled far, landing with a metallic thud on the roof of a car. Then, bouncing noisily down the pavement, it finally clanged up against a chrome hubcap.

  Like automatons, every zombie head turned toward the noise. With low moans they all changed course and began to walk in that direction. In less than a minute, a clear path was opened to the connecting street. Still moving with the upmost stealth, the four soldiers quickly worked their way into the storied canyons of 42nd Street.

  Austin and company made it up the first block without incident. At the next corner they were held up by a lone zombie in the intersection. An undead postal worker was standing motionless in the center of the street. Half of his face had been chewed off and his light blonde hair was stained with dried blood. There were others wandering close by, so he couldn’t shoot the ghoul. Looking around for something else to throw, he could only find some empty water bottles or paper cups lying close. There was a body of a young man lying in the street. He was wearing a bicycle helmet apparently for protection, although it didn’t seem to do him any good. It was a little too far for him to reach. All four soldiers were huddled in an alcove to the upstairs apartments next to the corner building. Getting up he could see a McDonald’s logo. Unconsciously, and to his own amusement, a vision of French fries loomed large in his mind. He quickly swallowed down a reactionary mouthful of saliva. Peeking out again, he made a hissing sound. At first nothing happened, then Austin repeated it a bit louder. This time the zombie turned and cocked his head to the side. Austin hissed again. Now the zombie focused in and slowly began to shuffle down the street toward them. From his condition and slowed gait, Austin assumed that he must have turned weeks ago. The ghoul reached the sidewalk curb, and then stopped. He again started to look around. Shaking his head grimly, Austin thought, Now I know what they mean by brain dead.

  Taking another breath, Austin let out a long, slow hiss like a tire losing air. Focused again, the zombie mounted the curb and started shuffling down the sidewalk closer to the buildings. Reaching down, Austin unsheathed his combat knife. Gripping it, he crouched down and made himself ready to spring. As the unsuspecting zombie stepped past the alcove, the tense soldier slid out behind him and drove the razor-sharp blade up into the base of his skull. The zombie stiffened, then completely limp, collapsed at his feet. Austin quickly looked around to make sure he wasn’t seen or heard.

  Luck was still with them, and they crossed the intersection undetected. They traversed the next block successfully also. Although they had to additionally knife three more zombies on that block to make their way through. The undead were starting to become more numerous.

  Finally they found themselves crouching ten feet from the Humvee. “Okay,” said Austin looking out from behind the damaged taxi, “we’ve got a Z at nine o’clock, eleven o’clock and three o’clock. I’ll take the nine. Jermaine, the eleven. And Jeff, take three o’clock. Leslie, check the fender on the Humvee and make sure it isn’t bent into the tire.” Looking at everyone, he said, “Let’s roll.”

  The three soldiers drew their combat knives and crept up on the three ambling zombies. Jeff reached his first and was able to get behind him and drive the blade into his temple. Austin crept up behind a silver SUV with all of its doors opened wide. The zombie, a tall black woman in a meter maid uniform, was on the other side. The open vehicle doors were proving to be a hindrance to his sneaking around the car. The zombie was standing at the open front passenger door facing away from him. Keeping his eyes glued to the back of the zombies head, Austin came around the rear of the SUV. He was about to slide around the open rear door, when he accidentally kicked a piece of metal with the toe of his boot. He froze as the unseen scrap clattered across the roadway. Austin felt his heart jump to his throat as the alerted zombie spun around. Upon seeing the soldier, she bared her teeth and snarled viciously at him. The open rear door separated them as the creature darted forward, hands reaching
out with clawing fingers. The undead meter maid hit the car door with her body and slammed it closed, trapping Austin in between. He grunted in pain as the edges of the roof dug into his upper back. The zombie had grabbed onto his helmet and tried to lean close to bite his face. Pushing with all his might, Austin forced the door back open. This maneuver knocked the zombie back, freeing him to slide out of the opening. As he did, the zombie again darted forward and hit the door. But this time, he jumped free and the door slammed closed. Adrenaline surging, Austin swung his arm around in a short, quick arc and rammed the blade of his knife into the zombies head up to the hilt. The force of his strike, coupled with the forward motion of the undead creature, drove her into the closed car door smashing the window.

  All this happened as Jermaine was still a car length away from his target. The zombie, a portly man in the soiled gray suit and tie matted with gore, turned toward the noise. Seeing Jermaine crouched ten feet in front of him, he growled and started plodding toward him. Jermaine ran up and kicked him back. Before the creature could recover, he grabbed him around the throat and sunk his combat knife into his left eye.

  As the three men ran back to the Humvee, Austin said, “Jermaine, Jeff… change the tire. Leslie and I will cover you.”

  From the parking garage initially, and then from the surrounding buildings, a moaning started. It increased in volume as more and more voices joined in.

  “Oh, fuck,” Austin said to himself. Then louder he said, “Hurry up and get that vehicle fixed.”

  Three zombies appeared at the entrance of the garage. As they staggered out, Austin pivoted, raised his rifle and put three shots into their heads. A split second later he heard Leslie fire at something down the street. From her muttered curse, he assumed she missed. Looking over the top of the vehicle roofs, they could see the heads of the undead threading their way through the maze of deserted vehicles at both ends of the street. Jermaine and Jeff had just removed the old tire and cast it aside. Jeff was rolling the replacement into position.